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  • Title: Pericles, Prince of Tyre (Quarto)
  • Editor: Tom Bishop

    • Copyright Internet Shakespeare Editions. This text may be freely used for educational, non-proift purposes; for all other uses contact the Coordinating Editor.
    Author: William Shakespeare
    Editor: Tom Bishop
    Not Peer Reviewed

    Pericles, Prince of Tyre (Quarto)

    500Enter Gower.
    Heere haue you seene a mightie King,
    His child I'wis to incest bring:
    A better Prince, and benigne Lord,
    That Will proue awfull both in deed and word:
    505Be quiet then, as men should bee,
    Till he hath past necessitie:
    I'le shew you those in troubles raigne;
    Loosing a Mite, a Mountaine gaine:
    The good in conuersation,
    510To whom I giue my benizon:
    Is still at Tharstill, where each man,
    Thinkes all is writ, he spoken can:
    And to remember what he does,
    Build his Statue to make him glorious:
    515But tidinges to the contrarie,
    Are brought your eyes, what need speake I.
    Dombe shew.
    Enter at one dore Pericles talking with Cleon, all the traine
    with them: Enter at an other dore, a Gentleman with a
    520Letter to Pericles, Pericles shewes the Letter to Cleon;
    Pericles giues the Messenger a reward, and Knights him:
    Exit Pericles at one dore, and Cleon at an other.
    Good Helicon that stayde at home,
    Not to eate Hony like a Drone,
    525From others labours; for though he striue
    To killen bad, keepe good aliue:
    And to fulfill his prince desire,
    Sau'd one of all that haps in Tyre:
    How Thaliart came full bent with sinne,
    530And had intent to murder him;
    And that in Tharsis was not best,
    Longer for him to make his rest:
    He doing so, put foorth to Seas;
    Where when men been, there's seldome ease,
    535For now the Wind begins to blow,
    Thunder aboue, and deepes below,
    Makes such vnquiet, that the Shippe,
    Should house him safe; is wrackt and split,
    And he (good Prince) hauing all lost,
    540By Waues, from coast to coast is tost:
    All perishen of man, of pelfe,
    Ne ought escapend but himselfe;
    Till Fortune tir'd with doing bad,
    Threw him a shore, to giue him glad:
    545And heere he comes: what shall be next,
    Pardon old Gower, this long's the text.
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